


Off Mission

by idelthoughts



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Ianto has some issues, M/M, Pre-Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, WIP Week, background Lisa/Ianto, background Team Torchwood antics, drunkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 05:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13517955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: Ianto meant to visit Lisa tonight. Instead, he's drunk and in Jack's arms. How did this happen?





	Off Mission

Things were about to turn ugly. End of the night uni students on a bender ugly; the puking in the bathroom, blindly getting off with whoever was closest, fist-fighting and professions of undying love kind of ugly, and there was no way Ianto wanted to see any of his coworkers doing any of those things.

Ianto clutched his drink and looked down into the empty bottom of it. He was leaning on the wall because he didn’t dare move lest he fall flat on his face. They were drinking something strong and clear, confiscated from an old man in the islands who’d found an alien fermenting agent that added a ridiculous kick to his already potent bathtub gin. Ianto had given it a dubious sniff when Jack handed out the first round, but tried it anyway. He had no excuse for the second, third and fourth glasses, but they had gone down just as easily.

Jack laughed loudly. Ianto looked up. Gwen had her arms wrapped around his neck in an awkward hug. She pulled him down to slap a messy kiss on his cheek, to the hoots and hollers of Toshiko and Owen. Ianto was far enough away that he didn’t hear whatever lewd thing Jack murmured in Gwen’s ear, but her beet red face and the hearty slap she laid on Jack’s chest after she released him were enough to fill in the gaps. Jack enjoyed playing the cad too much to let an opportunity slip past.

Ianto caught himself smiling at their antics. They weren’t his friends, exactly, but they had grown on him. Maybe this was what police undercover felt like, going into drug operations and the like, pretending to be someone else for years. Ianto was only four months in, and already he had moments of forgetting himself. He didn’t know if it was him or his persona who was thinking and speaking. Fortunately the team barely paid him any attention—other than the studious attention Jack paid to his arse when he walked past—and he didn’t have to dredge up more than a professional demeanour. He was glad no one had inquired after his personal life. Even though he’d prepared a dull and believable response, it was comforting to have something of himself left.

Dr. Tanizaki’s trip to Cardiff was now scheduled for next month. Maybe this would be over soon. He hated this waiting game.

Ianto rubbed his eyes. He was getting maudlin, and that would never do. He should have had the sense to keep his head clear, but when the jellied feeling hit his muscles after the first glass, he’d downed the next few without much thought. Next thing he knew, he was propped up against the wall with the spins.

He would have to wait hours before he was sober enough to go see Lisa. He wouldn’t risk making some stupid mistake. Time to call it a night and find a corner somewhere to clear his head.

It wasn’t hard to keep to himself and skirt the edge of their attentions. He politely moved aside when Gwen and Toshiko tumbled over during a drunken tango attempt, and responded with dry rejoinders that sailed gracefully over Owen’s head when he cast a disparaging remark Ianto’s way. They hardly noticed him unless he got in their way.

He’d needed to shake out the constant tension from his muscles, that was all. Just a moment or two to bring his shoulders down from the permanent place they’d found hiked up around his ears. Then he’d carry on as before, without complaint.

He’d done too good a job, judging by how he staggered when he took a step away from the wall.

He made it without incident to a desk to put his glass down, but it was taking all his attention just to put one foot in front of the other. He briefly considered going home instead of sobering up here, but the call of nature asserted itself and preempted the deliberation.

He set off for the loo, circling the edge as much as he could to avoid where Tosh and Owen were now having a playful battle with improvised trebuchets and office supplies, cheered on by Gwen and Jack. He stumbled on some stairs, but otherwise made it to the toilets without a face plant.

After relieving himself for an age—and now he knew for certain he was drunk, for he was silently waxing poetic about it being the most heavenly sensation he’d felt in a long time—he turned to wash his hands and was startled by his own reflection.

It had brought him no end of teasing that no matter how much he exercised and watched his weight, the puppy-fat wouldn’t leave his rounded cheeks. Now, however, his jaw had taken on a sharper look, his face narrowed and cheekbones more pronounced. Work and stress left his appetite gone as often as not. This harder look suited him, but it made him look like a stranger. He wouldn’t recommend the Torchwood diet plan to anyone.

Ianto turned to leave the toilet. He’d say his goodnights, and go home. He’d sneak back in the morning when they were all lying in to see Lisa.

It took him a while longer to get out of the toilet than he’d expected, because he’d been absolutely certain he was supposed to push the door. He only managed to get out when he gave the door a frustrated yank and it flew open with stunning force. At least he was too numb to do more than grunt when the door smacked him in the face.

Bad sign, that. He hadn’t been this drunk since high school, when it had been a full-time hobby to skive off school and get pissed with his mates down by the river. He’d been too poor in London to go out that often, and Lisa had never been much of a drinker. Lisa, who he was ignoring tonight because he’d drowned himself in alcohol. But he’d see her in the morning, no matter how sore his head. That was enough, wasn’t it?

Time to find his jacket and go home. Where had he left the bloody thing? He blinked in the dim light of the Hub, scanning around, seeing no hint of where it might be.

In fact, there was nothing much going on at all. It was quiet. Should it be this quiet? How long had he been in the toilet?

The Hub door came to life with the grinding of gears, and Jack come through and hop down the steps, grinning and chuckling to himself.

Ianto gripped the rail in front of him to keep from weaving, bringing himself upright as much as possible to maintain the illusion of sobriety. Jack looked up at him in surprise. 

“I thought you’d snuck out and gone home.”

Ianto looked beyond Jack, but the heavy door had rolled closed.

“Where’re the others?” His words lacked his usual crispness, and he straightened up to compensate for his sloppiness.

Jack grinned at him, cocking his head as he inspected Ianto. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“They decided to a call it a night - I just sent them home in a cab. Had to pay extra to get him to take Owen, but the girls promised to drop him off first so they can apologize afterward for anything he says.”

“Right.” If the others were gone, that meant he should be going. Party over, duty fulfilled, or something like that. But he’d left his jacket somewhere, and damned if he could remember.

The stairs next to him rattled, and he turned to find Jack at his side. He still had a wide, friendly grin in place. Deceptively harmless, that grin.

“Ianto?”

“Yes, sir?” He focused on pronouncing the sibilant tones, keeping the words distinct.

The wattage of Jack’s smile increased.

“You’re sloshed.”

“Never, sir.” He supposed he wasn’t doing all that great a job of covering up the fact. He looked down at his feet and saw his zipper was down. “Oh, bugger.” He hastily scrambled to fix it. “Um, sorry, sir.”

“You’ve called me ‘sir’ three times in the space of thirty seconds. You don’t have to, you know.” Jack put his hands on his hips, his face a study in childish glee.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Four.”

“Sorry-” Ianto bit down awkwardly on the apology. “…Jack.”

“Better.” Jack leaned against the rail and nodded to Ianto, crossing his arms. “But anyway, don’t let me interrupt you.”

“What?”

Jack nodded his head and looked down, and Ianto followed his gaze to find that he’d managed to catch his shirttail through the zipper of his trousers, and it stuck out through. He swore and fumbled at his zip again, flushing hotly. Jack laughed and caught his hand when he was done, reeling him in closer.

“You are too adorable.”

Ianto rolled his eyes, squirming with embarrassment. Jack had a way of making him feel like a foolish child, but he was usually better at covering his reaction. He managed a scoffing noise, but had no ready response.

“Have another drink with me?” Jack tipped his head towards the couch behind them.

Jack was flirting with him, which was hardly unusual, but without Jack’s typical trite pick-up lines, Ianto had no idea how to brush it aside. It was too serious—too real. Was he supposed to say yes? Was  _ have another drink with me _ code for  _ let’s fuck on the couch? _

Jack’s thumb was rubbing the heel of his hand and the inside of his wrist in a small circle, and that was nice. And unexpected. And… bloody hell he was too drunk to keep his thoughts straight.

“I think I’ve had enough,” he mumbled, unable to draw his eyes away from the small motion of Jack’s thumb.

Jack tugged, and with a stumble Ianto found himself pressed against him, Jack’s hand on the small of his back and the other holding Ianto’s aloft in ballroom dance form. He blinked at the blurry shape of Jack’s nose in front of his eyes, and pulled his head back to bring Jack into focus.

“Fair enough,” Jack said, and smiled at him. “Then stay while I have one?”

Jack began to sway, and Ianto followed the movement of his body, recognizing the three-step of a waltz. Jack was going to ballroom dance him around the walkways? God, Jack truly was the most ridiculous anachronism. Fine, he could ballroom dance if that’s what the occasion demanded. He’d learned to both lead and follow in all those horrid lessons in school.

Ianto put a hand on Jack’s shoulder blade, brought his elbow up into position, and straightened his spine. He blundered along as best he could as Jack hummed some warbling melody in his ear. It took all his concentration to follow Jack’s lead and not step on his toes.

“Look at you. Completely shattered and still a fantastic dancer. I’m impressed, Mr. Jones. I’m beginning to think you really are good at everything.”

“All part of the service,” Ianto said, carefully following Jack as he rock-stepped to the left. “And I’m not that drunk.”

Without warning, Jack tightened his grip around Ianto’s waist and pulled him into a tight turn. Ianto lost his precarious balance and tripped, falling against Jack and grabbing hold round Jack’s neck to keep from sliding down to the floor.

“Oh, really?” Jack’s breath was warm in Ianto’s hair.

“That’s not fair.” Ianto scrambled to get his feet under him, and Jack propped him against the rail, leaning next to him with a cheeky smile, arm comfortably slung around him.

“Nope, but my point stands. Unlike you.”

One of Jack’s hands had found its way under the untucked ends of Ianto’s shirt during their dance. A pass of Jack’s fingers tickled lightly, and Ianto sucked in a breath. Jack’s smile took on a smug shine, and he did it again. Ianto wasn’t sure if he wanted him to stop or keep going.

This was the plan, wasn’t it? He’d been throwing himself at Jack for months. Bend over, smile, drop the odd provocative statement. Anything to keep Jack’s attention safely away from extra hours, extra expenditures, and a door in the basement. It was easy to play the tease and string Jack along. The way Jack looked at him…

Yes, it was easy. Natural, even. What he hadn’t counted on was how badly he wanted it to go farther. He was half hard just from Jack’s light touch.

The plan was flirt with him, not fuck him. Christ, what was he doing?

Jack’s hand slid out of his shirt, and he patted the cloth back into place.

”Just a drink. That’s all.” Jack released him and pulled away, turning to the stairs, and then glanced back at him. “What’ll you have? Water? Coffee?”

Ianto sagged against the rail when Jack moved away and was no longer touching him, like that had been the only energy holding him upright. He sucked in a deep breath and blinked hard to clear his thoughts.

“Um, water. Thanks.”

He stood waiting awkwardly when Jack disappeared off to the kitchen to grab a glass. He downed the whole thing in one go when Jack returned. He hadn’t realized how parched he was. Jack plucked the empty glass from his hand and waggled it.

“I’ll get a refill. Sit.”

As Jack left again, Ianto flopped onto the couch. The surge of hormones and adrenaline had faded, leaving him confused and tired. He sank back into the cushions, resting his head back and closing his eyes, just for a moment.

He started when Jack shook his shoulder, and he lifted his head to see another glass of water presented to him. He was groggy enough that he suspected Jack had let him sleep for a bit.

“Cheers,” he said, taking it.

“You’re welcome.” Jack sat and angled towards him, leaning an arm across the back, hand lying just behind Ianto’s head. “You’re a good dancer.”

“I'm better when I lead.” He took another sip of water, then placed the glass on the table.

“We can take turns, then. I’m more than happy to let you lead whenever you like.”

The suggestive lilt was unmistakable, but the lightness of Jack’s expression kept the joke in the safe territory that Ianto knew. He even went so far as to waggle his eyebrows at Ianto, which was ridiculous enough to make him laugh. He was very drunk indeed if Jack’s cheesy lines were funny. Jack contemplated him for a long moment, then reached out again and brushed a lock of hair away from Ianto’s face, threading the errant curl in with the rest of his wavy hair. It tickled.

“You should smile more,” Jack said, as though he’d reached some conclusion on a difficult problem.  “Your whole face lights up when you smile.”

Jack played with another curl behind his ear, and the feel of Jack’s fingers toying with his hair was so soothing that his eyes drifted closed briefly.

“Jack,” he sighed.

“Yes, Ianto?”

Jack’s hand was large and warm as it settled along the side of his head, thumb sliding around his ear, fingers moving to find the back of his skull and pressing into the muscles of his neck and kneading them. Ianto’s mouth dropped open as the muscles, forever a knot of tension, relaxed under Jack’s attention.

His head dropped forward, and Jack slid his hand further to grip the back of his neck between fingers and thumb, and Ianto thought his head might drop off from pure relaxed bliss.

“Oh, my god.” 

Jack’s laugh was low and warm, but Ianto didn’t care. He’d carried these knots in his muscles since Canary Wharf, and nothing had felt this good since then.

Eventually Jack’s hand eased up, and he stroked the back of Ianto’s head softly before withdrawing. Ianto blinked his eyes open, looking up from his hands draped uselessly in his lap to look at Jack.

Jack leaned forward, and Ianto’s heart nearly exploded as his pulse raced. 

Jack only put his hand on his arm, tugging gently.

“Come here.” He directed Ianto to shift on the couch, and brought him around so that Ianto’s back was toward Jack. “There, stretch your legs out.” He pulled Ianto back, and he leaned on Jack’s chest, cuddled against him between his legs. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.” Jack was tall and broad enough that Ianto felt enveloped by him. It was more exciting than it had any right to be.

“And is this alright with you?” Jack’s voice was soft in his ear.

Alright wasn’t the word for what this was. The arousal that had receded to the background crept over him again, and he closed his eyes and nodded. The room spun in the dark, and he relaxed his head back against Jack’s chest.

Jack’s lips pressed against the side of his head, and Ianto’s stomach fluttered. Jack’s sigh was a huff of hot air in his hair. “Ianto, if circumstances were just a little bit different…” Jack kissed his temple. “But you are drunk, and I am your boss, and I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”

Jack was warm, and smelled damned good, and was rubbing his nose lightly in Ianto’s hair… but that was it. Nothing more. Ianto shifted, frustrated and bothered and wishing that Jack would just…something. Anything.

And not because there was any urgent need to distract Jack from the requisitions Ianto was sliding past his desk, or to from the missing hours Ianto had edited out of the security feeds, or any of the myriad lies that composed the house of cards Ianto lived in—the house he shared with the cyberman in the basement.

Lisa. Not a cyberman.  _ Lisa _ .

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Jack stroked a finger down the side of his neck, and Ianto shivered. He was overheated and uncomfortably hard; even the sudden guilt hadn’t washed that away.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice sounded slurred and unsteady, and he sucked in a deep breath to try again. “I’m fine.”

Jack made a noise of acknowledgement. Then he wrapped him in a hug and settled again. For a long time, neither of them moved. Inch by inch Ianto began to relax, growing languid and heavy.

This wasn’t how Ianto had pictured it. He thought Jack would take what he wanted, with Ianto playing the appreciative audience to Jack’s ego. Not Jack being gentlemanly, or whatever this was. He didn’t want to decide what happened next—he just wanted it to happen.

“Did I ever tell you about the time the Rift dumped seventeen Alacki warriors on the high street on a Saturday night right as all the clubs were closing?” Jack suddenly asked.

Ianto blinked his eyes open at the non-sequitur. It took a moment to realize Jack was waiting for an actual answer.

“No, I don’t believe so.” Ianto paused and searched his hazy memory. “I don’t remember a report about that.”

“That one might’ve been left off the books,” Jack said, and his chuckle rumbled through his chest and into Ianto’s bones. “That was a hell of a night. The Alacki have these battle songs that’ll bring you down—resonating cavities in their chests. Somehow, they’d picked up some  football chants, and they were howling away when we finally got them into the cells…”

Jack kept talking, winding a tale that was at once amusing and appalling, and the gentle drone pulled Ianto into a doze.

He’d meant to visit Lisa tonight. Instead he was drunk, and in Jack’s arms.

He hated himself for how much he loved it.

**Author's Note:**

> I published this for the wipbigbang WIP Week challenge - your oldest WIP. It's been so long since I wrote Torchwood fic that it was a serious fumble in the dark, but it's done. I'm publishing it before I let it languish for another eight years.


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